


The Swan and The Captain

by TickTockTitan



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, Gold's an asshole, Irish!Killian because reasons, gang leader! Emma Swan, gang leader! Killian Jones, rated T for now, that might change I don't know, their relationship will basically go from 'fuck you' to 'fuck me', with angst and fluff galore in between the two
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-09
Updated: 2016-06-09
Packaged: 2018-07-14 03:05:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7150523
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TickTockTitan/pseuds/TickTockTitan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>1926, New York City. The streets are rife with gangs, and The Swans want to rule them all. Their leader, Emma, a troubled, yet respected youth of 22 years, wants nothing more than to earn the title of 'saviour' her gang members have dubbed her as, and rule the gangs of the city, even if by force.</p><p>That is, until a gang previously only affiliated with the city's docks, The Pirates, decide that New York is theirs for the taking, and the struggle for leadership becomes all the more complicated when their 'Captain' adds his name to the previously one person ballot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Swan and The Captain

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just a thing. The thing might work, or it might not. But hey ho, we'll see how it plays out. 
> 
> Basically, what can be better than the combination of Captain Swan and the 1920s? Not much, right? 
> 
> Maybe they'll have a happy ending, maybe they won't, but it's gonna be a bumpy ride along the way anyhow.
> 
> Enjoy!

New York. 'The Concrete Jungle'. Land of opportunity. Liberty. Expression. The era of prohibition giving rise to an overwhelming gang culture. The place Emma Swan called home, not in that it was where she belonged, but that it was the only place she'd ever had. The streets of New York had been her bed, the bins outside restaurants her food source, the canopies over roadside cafes the only roof over her head when it rained. It was more like the streets of New York were her house rather than her home, because to have a home meant having emotional ties and connections to a place. A place of belonging and feeling loved, and Emma had never had that. She'd never had a home, and had long since reconciled herself to the idea she never would.  
She had means of survival, and people were a large part of that, but she had never felt like she belonged. It was a pitiful excuse for a job, gang leader, and yet it was the only thing that ever made her feel alive. It was more raising anarchy that raising funds for a better life. The streets were safer, more places to hide from the police and rival gangs placing bets on her head. It was a collection of almost's. The Swan's were almost her friends, the streets they roamed were almost her home, the anarchy they raised was almost worth living for. It was never enough though, not enough to sate her need for something more. 

March 12th, 1926, exactly one month until her 23rd birthday. Emma had spent the night with three of her gang members, while the rest had volunteered to find food and fulfil other errands. Emma had wanted to join them, but they had a close call two days ago with a bunch of burly cops who recognised Emma and tried to bring her in. The whole fiasco ended with a collective two knife wounds and one gunshot wound to her gang. They'd been on the down low since, keeping to the shadows, with certain tasks pertaining only to smaller groups while the rest steered clear of trouble. As the leader, Emma, to her disdain, had been press ganged into keeping a low profile for the time being. 

And so she sat, huddled at the dead end of an alleyway in downtown New York, wrapped in a woollen blanket hauled from a skip, munching on a cookie she'd found abandoned in a baker's box yesterday afternoon. With her, still curled up asleep, were the three injured in the cop debacle. By name, they were Graham, Anton, and Elsa. Graham had suffered a knife to the leg as an officer attempted to tackle him with a weapon in his hand. As Graham swerved, the knife tore through his leg, leaving an angry but shallow gash in his flesh. Elsa had a minor knife injury in her shoulder, but was otherwise unharmed, with her cheery attitude still intact along with the rest of her body. Anton had been a little less lucky, suffering a gunshot wound to the arm. He'd survive, they'd made sure of that, but he had been shaken by his brush with death and had been more or less unresponsive since the incident. Emma had seen it happen before, an injury that could have potentially been fatal having a knock on effect on the person's mentality for a while afterwards. She'd read about something similar in regards to the war, something the soldiers had called 'Shell Shock'. Luckily for them, neither shells nor bloody battlefields had nothing to do with Anton's injury, but she figured the effects were pretty similar regardless of the weapon used to harm.

As she was reflecting on the events of the past couple days, Graham began to stir. She turned to watch as he hoisted himself up to a sitting position whilst trying to keep his bandaged leg as still and straight as possible. With his victory, he glanced at Emma, offering her a shy yet sweet smile.  
"Morning." He murmured. 

Emma was good at reading people, maybe even going so far as to call herself particularly perceptive, and she knew Graham had had a soft spot for her over the past few years. He had never admitted it outright, but she saw it in the smiles, the fleeting glances, the precarious way in which he interacted with her, sometimes even going so far as to offer the most watered down pick up lines that even then made him blush. He knew, Emma thought, that she didn't feel the same way about him as he did her, and she admired that he'd never let that stop him from treating her any different. If she was being honest with herself, she was incredibly grateful for that. It was rare in her life to be treated with such a gentle respect, and it made the winter days a little less cold. She valued his presence as a friend a great deal, and had never failed to behave as warmly as she could in regards to him.

"Morning." She said back, voice a little husky from a night of disuse. "How are you feeling?"  
Graham's face turned about three shades pinker, a regular occurrence, and he shrugged.  
"A lot better, I guess. I mean, it's not infected so... That's a start."  
Emma grinned, playing with a loose strand of wool in her fingerless gloves. "Indeed it is." She said. "You'll be back walking with ease again in no time, I assure you."  
It was Graham's turn to grin, and he shook his head almost self-deprecatingly.  
"I got lucky. If I'd swerved two seconds later that knife would have been in an area a whole lot harder to heal, if at all." 

Graham's smile had faded. Emma knew how he felt. After she first suffered a close call it shook her so much she almost left the gang she'd joined, the only thing that stopped her from doing so was their vow to protect her with their life if need be. Emma opened her heart up to those four people, and they kept their word, dying in a police brawl using their last breaths to tell her to run. Ever since, Emma had kept her heart guarded. She lived a dangerous life, and the distance she kept from people protected her from getting hurt... Though it didn't fix the hole in her heart growing steadily stronger day by day.

"Don't focus on that." She said to him, as distant and 'boss-like', as her tone had sometimes been called, as possible. "Focus on the fact that you survived."  
She flicked her eyes up to glance at Graham, then immediately directed them back to her hands. He had a yearning look on his face, the kind of look he got every time Emma gave him advice or said something even vaguely influential. Emma treated Graham with respect, the way he did her, but she couldn't allow herself a close bond with him, no matter how much he wanted one. Not that she even knew how to develop such a thing, not anymore.  
"I will." Graham said. "Thank you."

As if to save her from the awkward silence that would have inevitably followed the end of Graham's sentence, Elsa woke up. 

Elsa was the kind of girl who no one would expect gang behaviour or maliciousness from. She was picture perfect. Blonde hair, blue eyes, a flush in her cheeks, and a personality full of optimism and kindness. If Emma had to guess, a large part of her happy demeanour despite her dangerous and unforgiving life was the result of her sister, Anna. Anna and Elsa were practically inseparable, and had been ever since their parents died and they were out on the streets with nowhere to go. Silently, Emma envied them. They had each-other, and Emma had condemned herself to having no one. They had open hearts, whilst Emma's was closed. And she had no one else to blame but herself. On the days she felt less self-deprecating, she could also blame the parents she'd never had. Who left her alone on the side of the road in a cardboard box, wrapped in nothing but a woollen baby blanket embroidered with her name. 

"You're looking a lot better, Graham." Was the first thing Elsa said after rubbing the sleep from her eyes.  
Graham nodded his thanks.  
"And the same can be said of yourself." He replied, gesturing to the healing wound in Elsa's shoulder. Elsa scoffed.  
"This thing?" She said. "It was nothing to begin with. Only a scratch, I maintain, and I fail to see why Anna insisted I rest and recover when there's practically nothing to rest and recover from."  
She crossed her arms in mock upset, winking at Emma who had remained a silent presence for close to five minutes now. 

The sound of shoes scuffing on dirt alerted them, and Emma pushed herself off the wall she was leaning on, standing with her fingers wrapped around the pistol in her pocket, drawing it out and at the ready in case of an unwanted visitor. Elsa stood too, the previously jovial expression on her face now one of wariness, stolen kitchen knife suddenly in her hand.  
She glanced at Emma, clearly nervous. Emma nodded as reassuringly as possible back at her, and turned her attention to the running footsteps getting closer and closer. 

Just as she was about to aim her gun, she lowered it again. Breathing a sigh of relief as the single person running into their alley turned out to be just David, one of the longest serving members of The Swans. She remained apprehensive, however, as David approached them. He was out of breath and red-faced, and when he stopped in front of her, she searched his face for any sign of distress, worried that she'd have to deal with a second fight two days after the first. She was glad that all she could figure out was that he really needed to work on his stamina.

"David?" She opted for as greeting, waiting for the young man to gather his breath long enough to form words.  
By the time he did, Anton had also joined the world of the living, and was all ears the same as Elsa, Graham, and herself.  
"We rounded up a group of folks with an interest in you and our gang, about twenty, all of them sick and tired of this prohibition bullshit. They want into this life and they wanna know if you're the kind of leader they want."  
He said, one hand massaging the apparent stitch he had.  
"So?" She urged.  
"So, we got you a gig over at 'The Rabbit Hole' in one hour. Go down there, sell 'The Swans' to those bastards and, if they sign up, we're one step closer to city domination."

Emma grinned. This was the opportunity they'd been waiting for. A chance to bring the public into their life of crime, of anarchy. The ambition of rulership making her will to live so much stronger than it had been before. This was something she could fight towards. Prove herself as something more to those not already in her direct circle. 

"Well, what are we waiting for?" She said, heading off down the alley, David just behind her. She strode with confidence, ready to start her conquer of this city and the black market so much of it was fuelled by.  
"I want a drink before we start."


End file.
